In this second excerpt from Judith Stewart’s essay she refers to our three children using their initials:
Whether it is possible to think of H and M as collaborators in this process depends on how one wants to define collaboration. Certainly their intellectual and artistic intent is not the same as an adult’s, but their contribution to the practice is vital and, to a greater or lesser extent, determines the development of the work. What is perhaps of more interest in this age of relentless screen presence is how this conscious involvement in making art will affect the children’s sense of self. To some extent it could be argued that this is no different to other families where a child’s every move is recorded for posterity, but the Townley and Bradby collaboration is an investigation. Taking part not only involves collaborating in the making but also in the analysis and reflection, so that arguably H, M and C will develop a more critical understanding of how images operate.
After Christmas Judith showed us a first draft of her essay. Here’s an excerpt:
Our cultural experience of images of childhood make us (particularly women) wary. How do we avoid the appearance, as well as the actuality, of sentimentality? Mary Kelly’s Post-Partum Document famously presented her experience of motherhood through the lens of psychoanalysis, but it is not Townley and Bradby’s intention to scrutinise the mother-child relationship. Rather, they consider the dynamics of the family as a whole. In spite of the changes that have taken place in our conception of what constitutes ‘a family’, it is still the basis of our social order. This means our economic structures still ensure that family reinforces the patriarchal order. It is the attempts to circumvent this, to negotiate a way of being (and becoming) in the world, that permeates Artists-As-Parents-As-Artists.
Between our visit to London and the on-rush of Christmas we had time for one more conversation with Judith. We compared the works in Home Truths with other works that reveal private interiors: Richard Billingham’s Ray’s a Laugh, Sophie Calle’s Suite Venetienne. Both rely on detachment from the subject. We return to Mary Kelly and the way she offers a view of motherhood seen through the ideas of psychoanalysis.
Towards the end of the conversation, as other duties are making all three of us feel we should conclude, Judith says ‘I don’t think your work has anything to do with the psychoanalytic approach. It’s more like the 1970’s feminist ideas about domestic equality. You’re trying to find a way to work and parent and make work that doesn’t put one of you ahead of the other.’ She says this as if it’s been on her mind for some time, as if she’s been meaning to tell us.
This commentary on what we’re doing is invaluable. It’s a considered statement, arrived at after several months. It’s informed, but it’s also from outside; it’s not an understanding we could arrive at between the two of us.
As Judith is leaving she tells us she’d like to write something about our practice and theories of the everyday. ‘I’ll give some dog-walking time to it.’ Later she explains that this is a precious part of the day: time when she is away from all other distractions, walking for half an hour, able to pursue an idea without interruption.
We finish up on the ground floor of the Photographers’ Gallery, watching the huge screen above the stair well. It is showing a sequence of hundreds of different images of motherhood which collectively carry the title Motherlode. The gallery website says ‘Drawing on historical archives, stock images, contemporary media and the world wide web, the display reflects changes in the representation of motherhood through the history of photography and wider visual culture.’
Our eldest enjoys the magazine cover images of expectant celebrity mothers: high fashion bumps. She hasn’t imbibed quite enough celebrity culture to recognize any faces (apart from Victoria Beckham’s), but she responds to the particular finish of these women. Something about their gloss, the sheen they project for the camera, allows their images to slip frictionless across the huge screens. They are in their element.
Another set of images within Motherlode seem more dense, more abrasive. These are the images of Victorian babies. At first they seem to be sitting on oddly shaped and heavily upholstered chairs. The essay by Home Truth’s curator Susan Bright points out that it is not upholstery, but hidden maternity: each baby is sitting on its mother’s lap yet their mother is hidden, entirely covered head to toe, with a cloth giving the illusion that the baby is independent. Bright says that one of these ‘hidden mother’ images, together with a piece by artist Mary Kelly, were the two works that ‘gave birth to this exhibition.’
Our visit to Home Truths at the Photographers’ Gallery (this was back in December, see earlier posts for more detail) started at the top and worked down. After the Katie Murray film on the top floor we went down one floor to the Lower Gallery. The first work was a large photo of a woman’s body immediately after birth. Only her torso is shown. Her breasts are full, her belly is slack and a freshly stitched scar shows the delivery was by Caesarian.
A little further into the exhibition space was a sign saying SOME WORK IN THIS GALLERY IS OF AN EXPLICIT NATURE (or words to that effect). H and M are not perturbed seeing the extreme effects of birth on the female body. We felt confident that EXPLICIT wouldn’t worry them. One of us hurried ahead anyway into the main body of the exhibition space.
The image which earned the warning sign was Mom on Top of Boyfriend (2002) by Leigh Ledare. It is part of a series of photos and other material exploring his relationship with his mother. It shows her naked astride a man’s face. His tongue, straining to lick her vagina, appears unusually large.
H and M were already hurrying anticlockwise round the walls, delivering a quick verdict on each image: She’s sad. Look at her hair. Are those things, those coloured things, … what are they? That one’s boring.
We felt we had no time to decide what to do. Telling H and M to go out again would provoke questions from both of them, and probably an argument with H. We dithered a few more seconds. As H and M approached Mom on Top of Boyfriend one of us stood in front with jacket spread open like a man shielding his wife as she changes on the beach. The other accompanied H and M. M hardly noticed. She couldn’t see the photo that was being obscured so she simply moved on to the next. H, on the other hand, was immediately both interested and suspicious. She asked why we were blocking her view. We said we didn’t want her to see the image. She shifted and managed to catch a glimpse. ‘That’s disgusting’ she exclaimed.
